three is a funny number. and age. more a funny age than number really. three is funny.

You might remember that I think my little Willow is a funny little person.

She still is.

But lately my boy Otto Fox is giving her a run for her money.

(Which leads me to think, maybe it’s not so much the kid as the age.  Three is just plain old amusing.)

As I tuck Otto into bed most nights I still sing to him his song – “Forever Young”.  And he usually requests that I instead sing him the song that apparently he wishes was his song – “Beautiful Boy”.

Like I said, he’s three now, and for as long as he has been communicating he asks for the John Lennon tune in the same manner every night.

He says, “Sing the song about the robot.”

And I always respond with, “The robot song?”

“Yes,” he nods, smearing his blanket named Baby Timmy’s grossness all across his precious face.

“You mean ‘Beautiful Boy’?” I ask.

And he always says, “Yes, the robot song.”

I cannot explain this.

I sing the lyrics nightly listening attentively to my own words and their possibility of being misconstrued as “the robot”.

I cannot figure it out.

It remains a mystery.

And last night, after tuck-in in his new big boy bed, he stands back up and smooths out his quilt tidily and says seriously,

“Momma, I making this bed so it not unruly.”

See – three is hilarious – right?